


A Quick Kup Of Coffee

by Blarghnessrawr, Rizobact



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Coffee Culture, Coffee Culture Clash, Crack, Food Fight, Gen, other canon character cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blarghnessrawr/pseuds/Blarghnessrawr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: Kup and Prowl can’t agree on what constitutes a good cup of coffee — or crude, in their case. The argument between strong, seasoned engine room brewing vs high-end ergonomic engineering gets a little out of hand.





	A Quick Kup Of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Cowritten with my lovely sister, blarghnessrawr <3 I love you hon! (In)appropriately enough, we wrote this during breaks at work XD It entertained us, so we're sharing it here so it can entertain others. Onward to the crack!

Prowl hadn't expected to see Kup in the commissary. Last he knew, the teal mech had been down in the training area, loudly observing how he had run the obstacle course in better time and with more style back in his day than any of the current recruits. Yet when Prowl stepped into the large open room, there he was, calmly sitting at a table in the back by the dispensers. He nodded briefly as he passed him, intending just to refill his favorite beverage and not interact any further — until the disaster of a mug sitting on the table in front of Kup caught his attention.

Staring, speechless, Prowl froze mid-stride. The mug was empty, but the sides of it were as black as its usual contents, rings of stain so dark and close together that they’d merged into one solid layer of deposit all around the interior. His doorwings twitched minutely in a reflexive gesture of revulsion.

“Somethin' rufflin’ yer panels?” the old veteran rumbled, the movement catching his optic. He followed Prowl’s focused gaze, then laughed. “Eeeyup! That's mah trusty ol' friend right there! Best mug I could ever ask for! Took me ages to get ‘er this good.” Kup grinned and stood, bringing the empty mug with him the short distance to refill it with oil from one of the machines next to the main energon dispenser. He took a long swig once it was full, finishing with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Aaaaaaah, nothin' like it! That's some good stuff.” He took a casual puff of his cygar, then narrowed his optics at Prowl. “Whassamatter with you, youngin'? Ya haven't moved since ya froze up.” 

“'To get ‘er this good'?” Prowl repeated woodenly, face still blank with shock. “Kup, that mug is filthy and in desperate need of a good cleaning!” He looked over at the ancient device critically. He had never used that one himself and, as such, had never paid it much attention. Looking now he could see it was in a pretty sorry state of affairs. “That dispenser could stand a cleaning as well. Someone has been rather lax in maintaining it — the warming unit is almost as black empty as it is full! It’s completely encrusted in filth.”

Kup regarded the other officer blandly as he went off on his tirade. “It ain't dirty,“ he said once Prowl came to a rather huffy stop. “It’s  _ seasoned _ . We been workin' on that there brewer for, oh, let's see… prolly longer than you’ve been walkin’ around! Now Ah know what’cher gonna say,“ he held up a hand to forestall any interruptions. “It ain't sightly, sanitary, or up ta code accordin’ ta standard regulations—“ 

“It  _ is  _ unsightly, unsanitary, and against regulations,” Prowl interrupted anyway, “and what it's producing does not even appear safe for consumption. There should be a hazmat label on this contraption.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Kup protested, irritation starting to chip away at his patience. “Yer tossin' round some pretty big claims for never havin’ tried the stuff. Us old war ‘Bots’ve been drinkin' our crude this way fer generations an' we ain't about ta change now jest cuz some young upstart don’t like the look of it!”

“How it looks is hardly my main issue with it, though it looks absolutely vile.” Prowl edged away from the machine as though it might contaminate him via its sheer proximity. “I’m sure it would cut down on the cases of clogged lines and filters that Ratchet sees in the medbay if mechs stopped drinking this swill.”

“Clogged lines? Bah! That ain't this stuff’s doin'!” Kup insisted, raising his mug. “That’s down ta poor maintenance and too many sweets! This here flushes all that crunk right outta ya!”

“By replacing it with new ‘crunk’.” Prowl wrinkled his nose, then turned to the assortment of additives and flavorings arranged beside the second,  _ clean _ oil dispenser. Some were in single-serve powdered packets, others bottled in liquid form, and Prowl reached for them to begin preparing his own (freshly washed) cup with a thin layer of one of the brightly colored liquid flavorings. “Seasoned, indeed! If you want something with good flavor there's no need to pretend there’s virtue in rust and lime buildup with so many fine alternatives right here.”

“See now, tha's exactly why we got this bit o’ gadgetry in the first place.” Kup gestured at the pristine example of crude brewing tech Prowl was standing in front of. “Fer weak-tanked ‘Bots what can't handle a  _ real  _ brew.” He chuckled, shifting his cygar to his hand to take another swig. “That fancy frou-frou stuff ain’t got no tooth to it.”

“Not wanting your oil to chew a hole through you isn’t a sign of having a weak tank!” Prowl shot back. “It’s a sign of having common sense. And taste,” he added, glancing at the blackened, gunk-caked dispenser disparagingly. “I may not have tried that… that line-scouring  _ cleanser, _ but I hardly need to to say this is the superior beverage.”

“Superiorly complicated ta brew, maybe.” Kup leaned over to see what Prowl was making. “All that’s way too much to bother with jest ta get a drink.” He narrowed his optics suspiciously at the packets and assorted dials on the machine. “Bet Ah ain't the only one thinks so, neither.”

“It’s not that difficult. Granted, learning which things should go in the cup before dispensing the oil rather than afterwards can be a little tricky at first,” Prowl conceded. “This one, for example, will form small clumps if you try to stir it in after, while these will create a film on top of the oil if you put them in first. But really, once you learn how to mix what you like, it’s simple: just set the temperature, filtration, concentration, blend, and pressure, and the brewer does the rest.” 

“Ah'm not sure what it is yer drinkin', but it sure don't look simple ta me.” Kup watched Prowl press a series of buttons, setting the dispenser to pouring his drink and was it actually  _ frothing  _ the stuff?! He gave the whole contraption a dubious look before finishing off his mug. Pouring another from the ancient and decrepit looking carafe prompted a look only slightly less scathing than the one directed at the oxidized, tarnished equipment from Prowl. “Whatever. You drink what you like, an' Ah'll drink what Ah like.”

“I can guarantee I have no interest in drinking any of that sludge or in telling you what to drink,” Prowl informed Kup, continuing the involved process of doctoring his own cup in a series of well-practiced motions. “But while I can’t do anything about your misguided idea of cleanliness when it comes to that mug — honestly, I’m afraid to even ask how long it took to get like that,” his doorwings twitched again, “I am going to insist that this machine undergo a thorough inspection and  _ cleaning.” _

“Now hold on there, Ah ain't got a problem wit'cha not likin' it, but cleanin’ the pot’s goin’ too far. We’ve put a lotta effort inta this 'ere brewer, and we ain’t about ta let ya throw away all our hard work. Besides, she’s been running fine all this time without any inspections, questions or tamperin'. Ever heard the ol’ sayin’, if it ain't broke, don't fix it?”

“It’s a health and safety hazard.”

“Really now? Quite frankly,  _ that,” _ Kup gestured to the extravagant brewer Prowl was using, all chrome and tubes with its frothers and steamers, “looks more ready ta blow than this 'un.” He patted the old, beat up machine fondly with one hand. “Ah put this 'ere back when Ah was still teachin’ the new Prime a thing or two about war. If Ah'm still here and not a hazard, then she ain't either.”

“Oh? A machine employing nothing but the finest of modern engineering looks like it could explode while that cobbled together, jerry-rigged collection of mismatched parts isn't the slightest bit suspect? I appreciate that a device may be optimized for function over aesthetics, but safety is a non-negotiable issue.” Prowl drew his doorwings back primly, taking his cup delicately in both hands and looking between it and the congealing tar Kup held. “The fact that it hasn't shaken itself apart, melted down, or launched itself into orbit is no guarantee that it  _ won't.” _

“Especially if Wheeljack’s ever worked on it,” someone muttered behind them. By now their argument was attracting quite a bit of attention. The other mechs in the commissary were beginning to take sides, lining up on either side of the room based on who they agreed with. Some were taking bets on the outcome, the odds shifting back and forth with each new sally.

“Wheeljack is not the mech responsible for repairs on this machine,” Prowl began defensively, but Kup saw an opening and pounced. 

“I don’t hear you sayin’ he’s never touched it though, or that it don’t need a lot o’ fixin’.” The old mech smiled, seeing he'd scored a hit. “Ah've seen the out of order sign on that thing WAY more times than on Ol' Betsy here.” 

Prowl frowned, unable to refute that. The brewer had a number of moving parts and small components that had to operate very precisely, and it was not uncommon for at least one function on it to not be working on any given day — if it hadn’t been rendered entirely nonfunctional by a miscalibration or a buildup of residue. 

“In fairness to… 'Ol' Betsy',” Prowl hesitated over the words like they tasted as strange as the crude it brewed, “I haven’t seen Wheeljack working on  _ either  _ appliance.”

“Course ya haven’t! This’s good, old fashioned, reliable equipment. She don’t break down! If yer so concerned with safety, mebbe ya oughta be seein’ ta that thing instead.”

“Fine. I’ll request full maintenance logs and an inspection for  _ both  _ pieces of equipment. But that thing  _ is  _ getting cleaned.”

“Like slag it is.” A growl started to build in Kup’s voice. “There ain’t nothin’ unhealthy ‘bout this here brewer!”

“Does it  _ matter  _ whether or not it’s healthy?” a haughty voice asked from the crowd. “It’s still  _ filthy.” _ Sunstreaker glowered death at ‘Ol' Betsy’ as he stepped up beside Prowl. “I wouldn't let anything that had touched that thing near me.”

Kup stared blankly at the yellow warrior for a second, cygar dangling from the corner his mouth. “Well Ah'll be… an' here Ah thought you were the smart one!” He shook his helm with a disappointed sigh, and Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled dangerously at the insult. “Cool yer jets, kid. Ain’t no need ta get all huffy over a mess what don’t affect you none.” He turned back to Prowl, ignoring his snarling golden shadow. “Ah’ll agree ta both machines gettin’ looked at fer safety reasons, but iffin' it can be determined that Ol' Betsy here  _ is  _ safe, an'  _ not  _ a health hazard despite her looks, then she stays.  _ Just the way she is.”  _ He extended a hand, stained from past battles, cygar juice, and his mug, out to Prowl. “Whaddaya say? We got a deal?”

Sunstreaker grimaced, his field silently suggesting that Prowl would probably catch some kind of disease if he took it. Prowl stared too, though his expression was more calculating than disgusted. “If we can reach an agreement as to what constitutes a fair assessment and what is necessary to allow  _ that  _ unit to continue to operate in its current condition—”

“Cut the legalese, Prowl,” Springer said, coming up to stand behind Kup. “We all know you like your words as fancy as your hot and foamy mess there, but they've each got the same total  _ lack _ of substance.”

“I don’t believe Kup asked for your assistance, Springer,” Prowl said, his tone dangerously even.

“Ah appreciate the backup, kid, but it's alright.” Kup thumped Springer on the shoulder. “Ah done right by ya if yer standin' over here in mah corner. But,” he held up a finger, “Prowl’s right. We need ta agree ‘fore we get started, or there’ll just be more arguin’ after the fact.”

“There — we’ve agreed on one thing already.” With obvious hesitation, Prowl freed one hand to reach out toward Kup. 

“An' that right there mechs seals the deal!” Kup declared to the crowd at large. Sunstreaker’s optics flared and he clamped his plating down tight to prevent a full frame shiver as the two clasped hands. “Now, since it'd be foolish ta have Wheeljack work on our respective beauties, all in favor o' Perceptor there,” he pointed at the scientist, who froze with an energon cube halfway to his lip plates, “doin’ the job raise yer hands.”

Kup hadn’t released Prowl's hand; either he’d forgotten or was hanging on out of spite. Prowl wanted to pull free but couldn't quite escape the older mech’s grip. “I am in agreement,” he said, squeezing down hard on those dirty fingers in retaliation. “Perceptor, would you do the honors?”

Perceptor looked as though he wished he'd taken his ration in his lab as everyone's focus turned to him. He glanced somewhat nervously between the two commanders and the groups forming up behind them. It was a relatively even split with mechs coming down on both sides of the issue, and while some of the allegiances were a bit unanticipated, Springer standing with Kup wasn't a surprise at all. The large triple-changer was as infamous for his fondness of the crude brew as his mentor, and he stood with aggressive confidence as he laughed at Prowl. “Oh? And here I thought you were a master strategist. Percy's a Wrecker! He's not gonna side with you!”  _ If he knows what's good for him,  _ went the unspoken threat.

“Now, Springer.” Kup’s expression never faltered, though he certainly felt the increased pressure of Prowl’s grip. Deciding he'd had enough, he released Prowl and turned to his protegee. “Ya done gone and made him all nervous!” He laughed as Perceptor fidgeted with his energon, his looks around the room becoming more frantic. “Ah don't wanna hear about none o’ my Wreckers poundin' Percy into a pulp if he chooses wrong.”

“As if Whirl will listen to that, old mech!” someone who sounded suspiciously like Cliffjumper shouted from the crowd. More and more mechs started grumbling about whether Perceptor could be fair or not at that point. Most of them were on Prowl’s side, but even some on Kup’s didn’t want a biased verdict that would render the decision meaningless.

Poor Perceptor just sank further and further into his seat, displeased to have been singled out. “Perhaps they ought to ask an individual who actually likes consuming the beverage in any of its permutations…” he mumbled into his energon, not quite meaning to be overheard.

Prowl heard him anyway, of course. “I don't see why that should be a requirement,” he said, coming over to stand next to Perceptor. “All you need to do is review the repair logs and evaluate both machines fairly to assess their safety and reliability. Surely you are capable of such a task?” The inquiry really didn't give Perceptor much room to refuse, being not so much an inquiry as a carefully couched order. Prowl continued as though the scientist's agreement was a given. “In any event, this isn't about which drink is superior. After all, there would be no point in a contest with a foregone conclusion.” There was the barest hint of a snide undertone in his voice now, and the mechs around him either rumbled their agreement or grumbled their objections. Prowl ignored both. “What do you say?”

“I do not appreciate the implication that I am incapable of performing a simple maintenance check,” Perceptor replied with the slightest bite to his voice. “Please do not misinterpret my hesitance as a refusal; the task is simple enough, but I do believe being the single deciding vote in what has, evidently,” he gestured to the divided room “become quite the heated debate is legitimate cause for reservation. I propose an impartial party with no ties to either faction oversee the proceedings.”

“Ya could’ve just said you're too chicken, Percy!” Guzzle taunted from the 'Kup side’ of the room, earning himself a few chuckles of laughter from the other Wreckers. 

“This isn’t about picking favorites,” Prowl said archly. “You are a scientist. I trust you to be impartial by profession. My only concern is that neither apparatus is prone to dangerous malfunctions that could cause harm to anyone.”

“What a load of slag,” Springer growled, advancing on Prowl to loom over him. “By 'cause harm to anyone' you mean poison them, and we all know which you think is guilty of that!” Prowl hadn't turned to face him as he'd approached, so Springer reached out and grabbed his shoulder, forcibly turning him to meet his optics. “And as for your 'foregone conclusion',” he ground out between clenched denta, “check yourself — over half the mechs in this room'll tell you our brew is better, so maybe you should skip  _ foregone  _ and just  _ get gone.” _

A menacing engine growl filled the room accompanied by a cacophonous  _ clang!  _ as soon as Springer finished talking. Sunstreaker had charged like an angry bull, his fist slamming into the green triple changer’s face. “Back the frag off!” he shouted, planting himself in front of Prowl, armor fluffed and practically daring Springer to strike back.

Springer didn’t need the dare or indeed any other form of invitation beyond Sunstreaker's fist to return fire, swinging a blow at the golden warrior hard enough to stagger him a few steps backward. Mechs from both sides joined in the fighting once the first punch was thrown, while the instigators continued exchanging attacks and insults. Their blows fortunately carried them away from the table where Perceptor was attempting to shrink even further into the bench rather than sending them careening into it. As it was, they collided with another table whose occupants eagerly joined in the quickly expanding brawl.

Kup sighed. “Well slag. That's gone an' dun it then, ain't it?” 

Prowl sidestepped a mug that came sailing toward his helm that may or may not have been originally aimed at him — hard to tell, given the sudden plethora of objects flying through the air every which direction — and edged around the table to get it between him and the fray. He looked between Perceptor and Kup with something akin to bemused resignation on his faceplates. “Things do seem to have escalated quickly,” he said rather needlessly.

Across the room, Springer rushed to grapple with Sunstreaker. “Guess Prowl's lucky he's got you to fight his battles for him,” he threw at his opponent, “since he can't win 'em on his own!”

Sunstreaker locked with Springer and snarled in his faceplates. “Like you're not fighting Kup's battle for him right now, idiot!”

“Now hold on a minute there!” Kup hollered over the fighting mechs. “Ah don't need Springer fightin' mah fights and Prowl sure as heck don't need anyone fightin' his. BREAK IT UP!”

His shouts went unheard. Springer and Sunstreaker crashed into the table, knocking it and its occupants to the floor. Kup wound up catching a projectile minibot and setting the poor guy down on his feet. “Never woulda figured us havin' a bit of a tiff like that woulda turned into this,” he said loudly, wading through the churning sea of fists and flying furniture and ducking behind Prowl’s table just in time to dodge a flying tray. 

“I did not anticipate Sunstreaker becoming so agitated on my behalf,” Prowl admitted, also pitching his voice to carry over the din. “He doesn’t seem to appreciate the ability to have a passionate discussion without resorting to physical violence. Your Springer is much the same.”

“Yer tellin' me…” Kup sighed, shaking his helm. “Springer ain't never been one ta use words if a fist can do the job.”

Speaking of the mech — “I'm not fighting  _ for  _ Kup, I'm  _ defending  _ him! Something a mech like you with no honor or concept of teamwork wouldn't understand!” Springer roared, overbalancing Sunstreaker with his larger mass and sending them both tumbling to the floor. Each fought to stay on top as they rolled through a knot of other combatants including Sunstreaker’s brother.

“Lay off, Springer!” Sideswipe hauled the bigger triple changer off his struggling twin by his shoulder fairings, giving the enraged yellow warrior the opportunity to scrabble up and land a heavy punch in Springer's side. 

“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know how teamwork really works, scrapbrain!” Sunstreaker smirked. “I don't see anyone helping you.”

“Looks more like they’re abandoning you to me!” Sideswipe crowed just as Prowl hauled Perceptor behind their makeshift barricade to protect the mech. “Awww, Wrecker down! No help for you!” he laughed, and together he and his twin threw Springer into a wall.

“You have my unending gratitude,” Perceptor said turning to face the two commanders right as someone's thrown drink hit him squarely on his helm and shattered, covering him in energon. 

Kup chuckled as the fuel ran down his faceplates. “Just ain't yer day, is it Percy?”

“Apparently not,” the scientist sighed as yet another object sailed over the table, missing them this time.

“This is ridiculous. There is no need for this level of animosity over a simple disagreement.” Prowl flipped the table on its side to serve as a more effective shield between them and the melee. It wouldn’t stop anything flying over the top potentially landing on them, but things lobbed in their general direction now mostly thudded against the table, not their plating. Taking up a fallen tray to deflect debris, he angled his doors to present as narrow a target as possible. “I’ve taken the liberty of calling for assistance to sort this all out.”

“Oh yeah? Who do ya think’s gonna be able ta help with this?!” Kup shouted over the growing noise. 

“I summoned—”

“What is going on here?” a voice boomed above the din. Casting a long, imposing shadow over the chaos in the room, the tall blue frame of Ultra Magnus filled the doorway. The silence as the Duty Appointed Officer's voice thundered through the mess hall was instantaneous. Everyone froze on the spot, projectiles falling to the floor as he rattled off a list of infractions. “Everyone, cease this activity at once. You are all in violation of several codes of conduct according to Section VI, Articles 4, 5, and 9 of the Tyrest Accords regarding orderly conduct on a military installation and appropriate behavior and comportment, Section II, Articles 1 and 2 regarding defacement of communal property, and Sections III and V, Articles 2 and 1, respectively, for fighting amongst the ranks.”

“…Good choice,” Kup whispered to Prowl.

Doorwings returning from their defensive position to a crisp attentive stance, Prowl stood from where he was crouched behind the table. “Thank you for arriving so swiftly, Ultra Magnus. There has been—” a tray clattered loudly to the floor from where it had been stuck to one of the walls. Prowl waited for the echoes to fade completely, his face and frame impassive, before continuing as though nothing had happened, “—a disagreement over the beverage options available in the mess hall.”

The twitch on Ultra Magnus's faceplates was definitely not the beginning of a smile. Frowning even more deeply that when he had arrived, he addressed Prowl and the room at large. “Who is responsible for this disagreement?”

“Whole thing started as a debate between me an' Prowl here over which drink was better,” Kup answered, coming around the table as well. “Ah like my brew strong an' well, he likes his however that thing makes 'em.” He pointed at the dispensers, which had somehow remained miraculously untouched. “Trouble was our talkin' led ta mechs takin' sides an' then Springer grabbed Prowl an' Sunstreaker decked Springer, settin’ off what ya walked in on.”

“Should have stayed out of it,” Springer muttered quietly at Sunstreaker, though of course everyone heard him. 

Sunstreaker's engine started to growl angrily again, but Prowl quickly sent him an order to stand down over a short range comm. “Everyone should have stayed out of it,” he said out loud. Some mechs had the decency to look chagrined about their participation, Mirage even going so far as to offer Cliffjumper a hand up from a tangle of wrecked tables as the little red mech muttered an apology. “Kup and I had reached a perfectly reasonable agreement, and Perceptor was going to perform an inspection of both machines and their maintenance logs.”

The rather sticky scientist sitting on the floor twitched at the mention of his name. Ultra Magnus looked down at him, uncertain. “Is this something you agreed to do, or was there attempted coercion involved?” he asked.

“While I hesitate to say that I volunteered for the position, the other mech who would have readily jumped at the opportunity was deemed unacceptable.” Perceptor got up from the floor and attempted to brush himself off, only succeeding in spreading the energon around more. He dithered, fussing with his hands to try and get the slowly congealing mess off of them. “No one would trust Wheeljack, and in an attempt to placate the masses, I was decided upon. The other deciding factor was that I do not particularly care for either beverage. However, I remain at an impasse due to pressure from both sides. The Wreckers wish me to remain loyal and, well, I felt as though my safety was being threatened, while my credibility and integrity were under suspicion from the other side. It really is quite vexing to be asked to assist and then hemmed in so as to be completely ineffectual.”

When he finally paused, everyone waited to see if he was done or about to keep speaking. 

“In conclusion—” The room groaned collectively. “Ahem!” Perceptor huffed. “In conclusion, I think I should prefer it if  _ you  _ would oversee the proceedings and cast the deciding vote, Ultra Magnus.”

“So be it then,” Ultra Magnus agreed. “You will evaluate the devices, and I will pass judgment on the results. I expect there will be no objections?” The question was obviously rhetorical, and none of the mechs scattered about the room dared to speak out against him. Not with the trouble they were already in.

Prowl nodded, satisfied. “I appreciate your intervention. Before we can begin, however, there remains the small matter of restoring order to the mess hall and issuing punishments.” He turned to glare at Springer. “Beginning with you.”

“I'm not going to the brig,” Springer grumbled, gears grinding as he stood up.

“No, you are not. You will be cleaning up this mess,  _ then  _ going to the brig.”

“But—”

“Ah appreciate ya defendin' the brew lad, but this was a bit much, don'cha think?” Kup cut him off, picking a bit of rubbish from his plating that had gotten stuck during the fight. “Anyways y’ain’t gonna be alone. Sunstreaker, ya helped in makin' the mess so yer gonna be cleanin' it too, and no fightin' again, understand? Springer'll start in that corner and you start over yonder.” He pointed each mech to opposite ends of the room. “That sound good to everyone?”

Sunstreaker fluffed his plating, but with Sideswipe’s steady presence at his side didn't do anymore than that. He knew he was in trouble and more brig time was not what he needed. Besides, the sooner the room was clean, the sooner  _ he  _ could get clean. His plating was already starting to feel prickly and uncomfortable from the energon and dirt sticking to it and he knew he was scratched and dented… though he smiled to note the damage he'd done to Springer.

“I-if everything has been decided upon,” Perceptor spoke up, “might the lesser involved parties depart to tend to our injured frames and ummm… pride?” 

“Everyone but Sunstreaker and Springer may leave after speaking with me,” Ultra Magnus said firmly. “Depending upon the degree of your involvement, you may be looking at additional shifts or brig time.” A rather morose looking line began forming up so the Duly Appointed Enforcer of Arbitrary Cafeteria Rules could serve up their punishments. “As a non-participant in the fight, Perceptor, you may go immediately. Please report back here at the beginning of the first shift tomorrow to commence the assessment.”

“I will see that the brig is prepared for these two and acquire the service records for both machines, if you are willing to supervise the clean up here,” Prowl offered to Kup as Perceptor, not waiting around for a second invitation, scurried past Ultra Magnus and disappeared down the hall. At Kup's affirmative, Prowl turned to Ultra Magnus. “Once again, I appreciate your intervention. Until tomorrow.”

He didn't leave directly, however. Instead, Prowl walked over to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who hadn't joined the line yet to speak with Ultra Magnus yet. “Sideswipe, I expect you to leave your brother to his task. Please join the others.” He looked pointedly at him. “If he does not throw you in with Sunstreaker, do not give him cause to. Understood?”

Sideswipe looked like he was about to say something, but Sunstreaker must have cut the legs out from under his argument over their bond. Silently saluting Prowl, albeit somewhat sarcastically, Sideswipe stalked away to take his place at the back of the queue.

Once satisfied he was going to stay there, Prowl turned his attention to Sunstreaker. “You will clean your portion of the hall without further incident. Am I clear?” His expression never changed, but he brushed a soft reassurance with his EM field. “I will make sure there are at least rudimentary cleaning supplies waiting for you in the cell. I cannot let your behavior go unpunished, but I do not want to see you suffer overly for it.”

Sunstreaker said nothing, but his field returned resigned acceptance.

“Good,” Prowl said. “I will see you when Kup escorts you both to the brig.” With that Prowl left the room, determined to see everything sorted out as quickly as possible. He was looking forward to a more civilized standoff come the morning.

He really should have known better.

Perceptor did indeed verify that both machines were up to date with all of their required maintenance, but before the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord could weigh in on which produced the better beverage the room degenerated once again into fisticuffs. Apparently there just was no civilized way for the rank and file to settle the dispute outside of violence and the flagrant waste of energon. Perceptor managed to flee when the first cubes began to fly, but Prowl and Kup weren’t so lucky, this time becoming embroiled in the fray.

When it was all over, both officers stood to the side, watching an energon-splattered and none-too-pleased Ultra Magnus leading away a large group of mechs to keep Sunstreaker and Springer company in the brig. Prowl turned and offered his hand to the grizzled veteran with a shrug. 

“To each his own?”

“Aye,” Kup said, clasping his hand firmly. “Ah think we can agree on that.”


End file.
